


Suppression

by MagicaAria



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Feels, Love/Hate, Memories, Repressed Memories, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 18:28:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaAria/pseuds/MagicaAria
Summary: Emet-Selch pays a visit to a very wounded, and broken WOL [ SHB spoilers for those who have not completed the expansion / Amaurot Influence ]





	Suppression

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for coming by to read! 
> 
> This fic is based on the SHB expansion and that of Emet-Selch's memories implied throughout. He visits the WOL, she is still recovering from the recently defeated Lightwarden...and, well, things ensue : D Hopefully the glitched text is ledgible, but it's done more so for effect and for the reader to feel immersed rather than for reading. I hope you guys like it! 
> 
> Any feedback or helpful comments are greatly appreciated <3

Emilia sighed as she began to ascend the marbled staircase. Soft taps rung in the air upon the meeting of her feet on said stone, each grating and hollow in the chamber of the Crystarium's Pendants. Every muscle in her body screamed, the armor much too heavy to bear now that she’d begun her journey to her room. It was enough to carry herself from the fields in the Lavender Forests, it was enough to speak to the Exarch and Scions, but she’d run dry of that patience, as had her body.

Biting down on her lips, she breached the terrace at the upmost flight of stairs, turning towards her quarters without pause. She was close now, to having silence, at least. Everyone had been much to praising, much too kind after the fall of the last Lightwarden; and for what? This was not her world, these were people, yes, in a way _her _people, but Hydaelyn’s voice had grown cold the moment she’d entered the First. No matter the Warrior’s pleas, her crystal mother had refused to answer, to guide-and as one so attuned with the Light, she felt she was beginning to falter.

She could contain it, yes, she’d continue absorbing and relinquishing the people of these Sin Eaters; but what began to bother her, was just how much longer could she manage it? Y’shtola was right, her soul was breaking from the pressure, like a dam fit to fill with an ocean. Each day of her adventure was now filled with coughs, with chest rattling seizures-each leaving her with cracking glass ringing in her ears, metallic bile hot in her throat. She could withstand the pain, but each time these episodes happened, they felt as if they were staining her-taking a piece of her humanity away. Since when had she begun to feel so apathetic?

To the flip of the coin, who else could free these lands? The thought bothered her; Ryne was too young, too inexperienced with her duties as an Oracle. Thancred and Y’shtola too broken, too incomplete in aether, not to mention too weak in their current state. It could be possible that Urianger could contain some light, he’s well-read enough to know of a method in which he may, but he wouldn’t be able to contain much-not a Lightwarden, anyway. The twins, like Ryne, were too young and the Exarch, too frail; so yes, she was it.

A vessel.

An empty, harbinger of blue, bright aether. Emilia, a child of the Crystal, the _Warrior of Light; _Ascian slayer, Killer of Ultima, Saviour of the Dragonsong War. She could, as they’d come to the conclusion; she could hold them, hold many-but to what extent? Would she break like the other Sin Eaters, become one? Honestly, what if she did?

These events were breaching a crescendo, much like a Symphony, like an elderly composer riddled with death, bearing his pen to the parchment one last time. That was her, the dying bird, the broken soprano with one last stage appearance before the curtain would fall.

Another sigh as she reached her door. Perhaps the apathy was a cause from the Light, perhaps it was taking away some of her humanity. 

As she stepped inside, she took note of her room. The quarters were nice, pleasant at least; upon entry, she was at least reminded of such. A kitchenette, fitting for an adventurer who wished to prepare their meals away from prying eyes and questioning citizens. A long antique table, riddled with sweets and pleasantries any Lord could enjoy, with company-though she’d yet to truly indulge in the latter. A small washroom to the adjacent corner, just beyond the stairs to the bed and wardrobe, complete with plush towels and a deep, claw-footed tub. A tall partition separated the sleeping area from the living space, for privacy she supposed, each off-set by a large bay window now sitting directly across from the door. 

Emilia pulled the oak egress against its frame and dropped her bags, a large ‘thump’ sounding as the leather landed against the cool stone floor. Gingerly, she continued inside, armor clanging as she made way towards said window, and the flower covered bench beneath. She’d enjoyed the choice of foliage, they were very unlike those back on the Source; glowing, almost luminescently pink, with soft, bubbly vines of leaves dwindling from each pot. They were smooth, she’d remembered, almost velvety, but very fragile-she’d broken a few stems out of curiosity before.

She paused upon reaching her destination, taking a moment to revel in the newly returned night sky. It was calm, almost ink-like in its darkness, but it felt more soothing than that of the stars; in truth, all manner of twinkling and sparkle seemed to dissettle her of late. She was suddenly reminded of her armor; how dull it’d become on the First. Was that purposeful?

The miqo’te shrugged to herself and began working over her regalia. In truth, life as a Dark Knight was much different from that of her time as a White Mage. She missed it, dearly-in fact, but the First required warriors; with the monsters they were to face, these people needed battle-hardened sword wielders, not healers whom wove conjury from broken, twisted light and misshapen aether.  
  
Beginning with her neck, she unwound the leather and scarves from their respective buckles, careful of the wounds which now littered across her skin. Blood had coated some of the metal, which she’d remember tomorrow when putting it back on. The thought disturbed her, if only slightly-she’d have to remember to clean it. The shoulders and chest piece of her torso fell with loud crashes unto the ground, the cloak behind her now covering them from view. Moving forward, her stomach, arms, and waist pieces fell the same, leaving her in a stained, canvas top and an assortment of chain-mailed linkage.

She felt lighter, without such heavy burdens bearing her body to the ground. A wave of gratitude for the solidarity of her chambers rushed over her; she’d have to thank the Exarch personally for such kindness, she couldn’t remember if she had.

A sudden tapping came from her door, soft, but the sound cut through the silence with purpose. Her face turned to a scowl; she’d requested to be left alone this evening. “Who is it?”

When no response came, she rolled her eyes and made way to the door, annoyance twinging at the thought of having to perform further duties, especially after removing her regalia. She’d hoped to be able to recover from their journey in solitude-collect her thoughts, rebuild her valor and forbearance. As she reached the terrace, she pulled the door ajar, just enough such that she could see her caller without seeming too inviting, “What…are _you_ doing here?”

A broad, crooked smile looked down on her between an expanse of pale skin and white streaked hair. “Now now, ‘tis that any way to greet a guest, hero?” The golden eyes of Emet-Selch twinkled with mirth and a mock sense of hurt. His voice took on that sense of bravura and drama, “And here I’d believed you the type to never turn down those in need…”

Emilia scoffed and made to slam the door back into its frame, but before she could manage, his gloved hand stopped her. “I made clear to everyone that I wish to be left alone tonight. That includes _you_.”

He laughed and leaned against the doorframe. Even hunched as he was, he towered above her, golden eyes piercing and bright within the darkening hallways of the Crystarium. “You suddenly consider me one of your charge?” He licked his lips, pleased by her startled expression, “I’m flattered.” 

“G-go away,” Her cheeks darkened as she snapped her response, turning from the entrance with disgust. Even if she’d managed to shoo him away, he’d simply apparate within her chambers. This Ascian was wane for attention; if he had something to say he’d bother her ‘til she stopped to listen, she’d at least gathered that much from his personality.

“Not even an invitation inside?” A hollow ring sounded throughout the room as the door fell shut, “We are quite rude tonight, aren’t we?”

Emilia made way to her dining table and swung out a chair, placing herself within it with crossed legs and an unwelcome expression. She truly desired sleep, more so now than before-without the armor to bear against her, she could feel how weary she’d become. With a grunt, she shifted and cleared her throat. The wood was uncomfortable. It made her bleeding back and bruised ribs sit too straight, too rigid, “You’d come in anyway, as you already have.” The Ascian grinned as he began to saunter over to her, “Now, what do you want?”

Emet-Selch grinned and paused just at the end of her table, grabbing a set of grapes from their platter along the top. After a measure of silence, he responded, “Do you always have such a spread greeting you upon your return, Warrior?”

“That’s none of your concern,” She crossed her arms over her chest, “I’ve asked you what you want. I’m tired, and in no mood for your games, Emet, out with it.”

He lifted the bushel of grapes to his lips and pulled on the lower quarter of fruit, watching her with those same golden, dark eyes. Emilia felt a strong wave of unease flood through her as he continued, juice now spilling from his smile and down the curve of his chin. Using his tongue, he pulled groupings into his mouth and bit down, humming as they continued to burst against his lips. He grinned as he slipped his gloved fingers to the fluids, wiping slowly, purposefully, “You truly should indulge yourself,” He began to step forward once more, the red juice dissipating from the cloth as we went. “Well, at least the Exarch. He’d appreciate knowing you partook in his offerings, considering how much he adores you.”

Emilia stood her ground and glared at him. She was unwilling to be moved by the theatric ways in which he chose to eat his food, or what his statement implied, for that matter. “I’m not amused.” 

He chuckled as he tossed the fruit back onto the table, “Ever the steadfast hero, playing the part even behind closed doors.” He sighed and waved his hand, slumping just slightly, “Have you no other side to your personality than venom and _excessive _brooding?”

“Have you none other than dull humor and laziness?”

“Oh, why _yes_,” He smirked as he reached her, his height now painfully apparent within such close proximity. He could at least be a full body length taller than herself, just above that of Sidguru or Aymeric. As he leaned further, she could feel the aura radiating from him, the darkness which fed the space between their bodies and crackled against the light of herself. Her chest began to burn, “Would you like to find out?”

Emilia’s skin flushed further as he began to lean into her frame, his hand now pressing against the wooden rails of her chair. She could feel her body tipping back from his pressing weight, the wounds on her ribs now pulsing tenderly against the supporting planks. She couldn’t mask the wince that followed, and even though it made his smirk widen, she was determined not to let him use it to overpower her. If she had to, she’d bear the weight of Hydaelyn upon him.

Emet-Selch’s face tilted, his bright, piercing eyes watching her beneath equally white and brown bangs. This close, she could see the beguilement written upon his features, it was almost a childish curiosity, had she of mistaken him for any other than himself. Warm, sickeningly sweet breath fell over her face, brushing her cheeks and painting her skin with gooseflesh. “How are you feeling, Emilia?”

Dark coils of heat settled in her stomach upon the hearing of her name on his voice. It was like honeyed tea, warm and sweet, almost…sentimental. He’d never called her by her name? “W-what do you mean?”

“Exactly as I say,” He whispered, “How do you _feel?”_

Emilia pressed her heels to the ground, trying to steady herself before the chair gave way to the combination of their weight. He continued to descend upon her face, now practically brushing skin with skin.

She narrowed her eyes and stiffened; how was she supposed feel, put in this situation? She could be afraid, this was an Ascian whom barged in her room whilst she was near her weakest. Should that not be reason enough, this was an enemy whose motivations for assisting them still held painful obscurity, though their plan for the Rejoining surely had some part in it. There was the Scions, who would look on at this façade with anger and act in a measure of protective fury be it they were present; Thancred especially. “Tired,” She hissed, “And growing impatient of your games.”

Emet-Selch grinned. This close, she could see the ways in which his eyes watched her, pausing over the muscles in her lips and jaw, “You may be saying that, _Warrior of Light_, but you needn’t play so coy with me.”

She leaned her head from his, “I don’t play a façade_, unlike some.”_

“You think me a performer, hm?” His voice lowered, a dangerous rumble compared to the mellifluousness of before, “I’ve spoken no lies, as promised. If anything, I’ve borne far more information to you, and your charge, than I should have.” He paused, “Be it that you could actually understand the weight of which I’ve shared.”

Emilia thought back to the moment in which she and the Scions had been told, by yours truly, of their Crystal mother’s status-of the land in which had been sundered by her act of binding the like Primal, Zodiark. Surely this Ascian couldn’t be referring to this-she’d yet to confirm with that of Hydaelyn, but he was not an ally-he had every right and reason to lead them astray from their path, and this information could be just that. Doubt bears seeds of discouragement and chaos in those of like-minded parties, it would be easy for him to do such with the Scions-he and his own were in much less of a number, they had motivation to do so. “How am I supposed to trust any of which you’ve said, _Ascian_?” The miqo’te chuckled, “Your kind haven’t exactly been so _generous_ before, if I recall the manner in which Lahabrea spoke his cause. Through Thancred’s mouth, might I add.”

Emet-Selch rolled his eyes upon the mention of his colleague’s name. “He has always been long-winded, as I’m sure you’ve been made aware.”  
  
“As are you.” She retorted.

A lock of pale, white hair fell between them, the pool of his eyes darkening with a measure of brown ardor. The bright, luminescent push of her aether was beginning to press against him, sickeningly warm against the cool shadows of his own; ‘twas almost as if her words were that of her spirit, lashing at him much like her script had. He despised it, the cerulean, swelling heat that churned from her skin, rushing like water through the air of the room, swallowing him in its waves and warmth.

She didn’t know that she was doing it, of that much he was aware. Only those of his own measure could control such a vast amount of aether, bend it, create it-let alone harbor that of the wardens, had he of gone that far. The more he observed her, however, he came to realize a familiarity in the essence, faint, but present. ‘Twas unbearably uncomfortable, considering their relations, but he couldn’t help the ways in which his own spirit wished to meet her own. Though it’d burn, though it’d sear him and wound him, his aether craved that sense of blue brightness, as if he’d felt that comfort before, though with flesh rather than spirit. Even when he separated from their group, even lost amongst his underwater city, or sleeping within the current, he could find her, sense her. The notion of it bothered him.  
_Greatly._

Yes, Emet knew that she had combined her soul with shards of his fallen comrades, Lahabrea being one of the latter, but he’d yet to entertain the notion of her being…sundered, in a sense. It was possible, that feel of nostalgia he’d suspected was enough to make him think as such; the blue quality to her aether being, in itself, a trigger.  
  
In truth, she’d been similar to other souls tempered by Hydaelyn, the color of her aether being a true indication of their tether to the Crystal. This was a quality he’d been searching for, and found, within the ones he’d encountered over the centuries, the eons. None to compare to that of his original…of…her, but the longer he stayed with her, the more notable the comparisons became. He didn’t want to entertain the notion that she could…that she may even be, the closest shard that’s resembled that of…_her_.

He’d made well to ensure that he didn’t make these notions known, of course, but he wouldn’t deny that it was what compelled him here this night. In the vast expanse of that putridly bright forest, he could see it, perhaps more so than that of her so called _friends_. The oracle had a premise to the severity of her condition, the warrior may even herself, but none without the power of his own could truly see the depth of which it’d rooted, the severity of the stain in her chest.

As if ice, weighed down by the bodies of those she’d vanquished, her soul was bending, cracking with streams of light spilling forth through her soul. Spilling and tainting, both herself and that of others she began to come in contact with. The room, somewhat present in her aether, had become like a beacon-shining and permeating all which dwelled within the chamber. He’d been well to seal them off, upon his entry-he didn’t need the Scions, nor that insufferable Exarch, interfering with his plans.

“I can assure you, hero, I am nothing like that of that _Speaker_,” He pushed within himself, bringing forth the aether which so desperately seemed to crave her own. Though the act was enough to riddle his chest burning with pain, he needed to contain her, at least for a little while longer. They yet had another Lightwarden to track, a city to roam and witness, a history to unfold; she couldn’t turn just yet. “Needs’t I prove that to you?”

Dark purple shadows suddenly appeared along the expanse of her arms, twisting and binding around her neck and chest. She tried to push away from him, but as she moved the tendrils stiffened, fastening her to the wood of the chair with a painful crunch. “E-Emet, what are you doing?”

The Ascian grinned and the purple aether grew, new spindles of darkness tethering around her shoulders and down by her hips. “You needn’t worry about what I’m doing, just hold still.”

Emilia gritted her teeth and tried to rip her arm free from his hold, but the give that came with the tentacle doubled back with equal strength and smashed her arm back into the chair, earning another wince from the hero. In a measure of panic, she began focusing on her aether, reaching into the light within her, but as the crystal answered, she was greeted with an ear shattering ring of breaking glass.

“Oh,” The ancient before her looked on with grandeur and a sense of dark curiosity, “Trying to fight me, now?”

Dread consumed her as the pain began to swell. White, hot agony erupting from her back and spreading full into her chest, scorching her throat and catching her breath with painful, hollow tightness. Had her arms been free, she would have begun clawing at her skin, pressing into her chest to keep herself from breaking her ribs with the force of her coughs. Desperately, she began to wheeze, the muscles in her stomach clenching and churning with each venomous heave of her body.

In a measure to concentrate the light burning within her, Emilia bit her nails into the arms of her chair and clamped her teeth. As she moved, white, luminous ink spilled from the edges of her lips, dripping feverishly down her chin and neck. It singed her skin, like melting wax over a fresh candle.

Emet-Selch released his aether from her body and took a step back, watching as she let forth a gurgling retch of like colored light upon the ground between them. The luminescent liquid singed upon the stone, smoking with hot anger as it began to burn into the floor. A moment later, and the Warrior had lurched forward, gasping just above it, “F…fet..ch…Y’sht..ola…”

The Ascian chuckled, kneeling unto the ground before her. As her aether began to lash out, twisting and flashing like whips of sharpened, dangerous blades, he moved his instead to cushion the space between them. She couldn’t see it, again, but to him it was like an oceanic creature, writhing, requiring a net to capture. More so, what good did she think that blind, vengeful mystel would do? She didn’t know of her blight; she couldn’t even see the depth of what they’d done to her-how far the light had swallowed of her humanity. “I think not.” 

Emilia let forth another series of coughs, the arms on the chair now bending beneath the strength of her clenched hands. Splintering crashes of bell-like chimes rung in her skull, rupturing her vision with cracks of misted, white shades. As she made to speak, her jaw cracked, audibly, hinging to allow another release of ink-filled bile to project from her mouth.

With a sigh, the Ascian reached out to touch her, again, a sudden halo of dark purple aether pulsing from the white of his leather-clad hands. She tried to turn from him, but as he began to move into her, a metallic heat suddenly flooded into her stomach. She could hear the bells shattering in line with his pulse, her mouth now spilling forth the same luminescent liquid, drool rather than bile.

“’Tis a shame, I'd hoped you'd be less _pitiful,_” He looked upon her with a measure of compassion. Her skin, pale already, was paling further, whitening to that of a radiant, sickening glow. Both of her eyes, gold and blue, had expanded into large rings of color within each lid, like plates of gems taking in the entirety of her eyes. She was incredibly stiff, but her aether was wild, slashing against the walls he had projected into the room.

Carefully, he fed another wave of essence into his palm, preparing to spike the barrier of her soul with his own push of aether. Emilia groaned, her mind breaking beneath the weight of her thoughts and the morally shocking hunger she felt at the proximity of his skin. As he began to make contact with her cheek, the same liquid spilled from her mouth, the points of her teeth sharpening as a low, broken cry to emanated from her mouth. To both of them, it didn’t sound human.

Emet-Selch watched as his glove finally brushed against her face. As the leather had met with her flesh, the aether surrounding washed over her like a wave, her head turning into the warmth of his contact. It was refreshing, compared to the molten agony coursing through her now, almost comforting. “’Tis unfortunate that I needs’t stay you_, Hero,_ I’d believed you strong enough to manage this yourself.”

As he spoke, Emilia released another cry, her voice a guttural rebut, but no longer coherent.

The Ascian pressed his other hand to her skin, joining the first alongside her jaw and cheek. She turned, again, to look at the new addition to her face, but he stayed her with his gaze, his fingers. “Do stay still, you insufferable creature.” As his palm engulfed her, he gathered himself and pushed forth the well of aether he’d built, striking against the barrier now coating her flesh.

A hot, burning sound suddenly began emanating from between them, holes of light now burning through the leather of his gloves. As they sat, swirls of blue and purple flashed angrily against their points of contact, swallowing and engulfing that of one another. As he’d thought, the two mixed and dissipated, eating away the other just as quickly as one had replenished. The temperament between them was truly annoying, Hydaelyn more so.

He pressed further, a scowl now forming on his ashen, sculpted face. Light sequences of fuchsia began spinning forth from his arms, lacing between the dark aether that’d been lashing against her own cerulean. Another push, and she began to howl in pain. It was horrible sound, a bright, piercing scream that only amplified the more his soul began to eat away at the light. As the darkness began to flood into her body, cool fire erupted over her face and down her neck. 

With more aether, she began to feel her chest loosen, the horrible skull-shattering chimes dim. “That’s it,_ just relax._” 

_“Just relax, P̶͙̮̠̼̤͚̭͇̜̺͓̂͂̋͛̆͗̿̓̊̆̏͋̍͜͠͝ȩ̵̡̱̘͚̖̣̤̬̥̮̰͓̔̃͌͜ͅr̷̡̧̛͚̟̭̫͚͓̩̯̰̹̮̘͐͑̈́̽̐̈͑̍͗̍̈͒̏̓ŝ̵̹͖̝͈͈̗̝͓͍̲̪̃̀́̐͋͜ę̴̢͕̙͍̖̤͚̫͉̹̘̋͐͑͋̉̎͋̓̿̇̐́͜p̷͕̖̯͈͎̦̠͕̮̬͑͌́̈́̍̈̉̿͝͝͝͠h̷̢̰͚̙̜̯̫̱̥̠̞̾̊̊͆̕ö̴̠̥̘͚̈́̽͜ņ̷̺̦̩̍̂̓̅͠e̷̲̺̱͊.”_

_Emilia groaned as her eyes began to work themselves open. It was as if she’d been asleep under sand, everything burned, everything felt…heavy. Unresponsive._ _Her lids, though stinging, continued to blink, to focus, a silhouette coming into view. It was a man, it seemed, looming just above that of her face. He was sideways, however, which led her to the realization she was laying...down?_

_Another blink, and locks of bright, white hair spilled around that of a dark, crimson mask. It was slightly intimidating, seeing how harsh it looked around such pale hair, but the face of said man was smiling, pleasant. _

_Blink. _

_A larger, blackened hood framed around his head, pooling loosely near his shoulders and exposed neck. She didn’t recognize him, but the inflection to his voice was dark and somewhat sweet, though she neglected the ability to comprehend just what it was that he was saying. The language he spoke was truly lost to her. _

_He sighed, “You truly do push yourself beyond reason, my love. I’ve told you prior, allow yourself a repose, no good will come of fatigue.” A cool glove suddenly began stroking her skin, tracing the features of her face and neck. It was satisfying and, she began to realize, not as worrying as it should have been. The more he touched her, the more familiar it felt, the more she wanted it. Needed it._

_Blink._

_She opened her mouth, to explain to this stranger that she lacked the skills to understand his words, but a finger placed itself over her lips, silencing her. “Oh, come now, I’ve just told you to rest.” His head tilted slightly, “I’ll send word to Lahabrea if that’s what you’re concerned with, though truly, ‘tis his fault you’re here to begin with…”_

_The inflections in his voice seemed...annoyed, “I told him you were overworked. Damnable fool, he can set his own errands to work, that’s not of your station, and especially not of your need, to answer his whims.” A pause, “Did you even explain your situation to him before accepting his request?”_

_His face, though still obscured under the mask, looked down with an air of expectancy that caught Emilia off guard. She still lacked the focus to see any sustainable features other than the crimson facade, but she thought, at least for a moment, she could see a hint of amber beneath the slits in the eyes. “P̶͙̮̠̼̤͚̭͇̜̺͓̂͂̋͛̆͗̿̓̊̆̏͋̍͜͠͝ȩ̵̡̱̘͚̖̣̤̬̥̮̰͓̔̃͌͜ͅr̷̡̧̛͚̟̭̫͚͓̩̯̰̹̮̘͐͑̈́̽̐̈͑̍͗̍̈͒̏̓ŝ̵̹͖̝͈͈̗̝͓͍̲̪̃̀́̐͋͜ę̴̢͕̙͍̖̤͚̫͉̹̘̋͐͑͋̉̎͋̓̿̇̐́͜p̷͕̖̯͈͎̦̠͕̮̬͑͌́̈́̍̈̉̿͝͝͝͠h̷̢̰͚̙̜̯̫̱̥̠̞̾̊̊͆̕ö̴̠̥̘͚̈́̽͜ņ̷̺̦̩̍̂̓̅͠e̷̲̺̱͊?”_

_Her mouth suddenly felt dry, hot. She could at least explain her blight be it she could speak, “P̶͙̮̠̼̤͚̭͇̜̺͓̂͂̋͛̆͗̿̓̊̆̏͋̍͜͠͝ȩ̵̡̱̘͚̖̣̤̬̥̮̰͓̔̃͌͜ͅr̷̡̧̛͚̟̭̫͚͓̩̯̰̹̮̘͐͑̈́̽̐̈͑̍͗̍̈͒̏̓ŝ̵̹͖̝͈͈̗̝͓͍̲̪̃̀́̐͋͜ę̴̢͕̙͍̖̤͚̫͉̹̘̋͐͑͋̉̎͋̓̿̇̐́͜p̷͕̖̯͈͎̦̠͕̮̬͑͌́̈́̍̈̉̿͝͝͝͠h̷̢̰͚̙̜̯̫̱̥̠̞̾̊̊͆̕ö̴̠̥̘͚̈́̽͜..ņ̷̺̦̩̍̂̓̅͠e̷̲̺̱͊?"_

_  
It burned, stung._

_  
“Ē̴̡̢̠̗̝̲̤̥͔̳̼̮̒̾͆͜m̷̡͙̟̟̖͇̳̲̻͖̼͙̋̀̔̇̎̐̚̚i̵͍̲̯̍̀̒̔͑̈ͅ…ļ̴͍̰̙͉̯̥͛i̴̫͚̖̝͍̘̙͎͒̄͗̎h̷̢̰͚̙̜̯̫̱̥̠̞̾̊̊͆̕ö̴̠̥̘͚̈́̽͜ņ̷̺̦̩̍̂̓̅͠e̷̲̺̱͊?”_

_Another breaking shatter of glass._  
  


_“Ē̴̡̢̠̗̝̲̤̥͔̳̼̮̒̾͆͜m̷̡͙̟̟̖͇̳̲̻͖̼͙̋̀̔̇̎̐̚̚i̵͍̲̯̍̀̒̔͑̈ͅļ̴͍̰̙͉̯̥͛i̴̫͚̖̝͍̘̙͎͒̄͗̎ạ̴̀̒͌́̈͘?”_

“_Hero,_ **_do_** answer me,” Emet-Selch huffed as he looked down at the body of the Warrior.

Her skin had, to his relief, began to flush, the normal ivory pallor now staining that of her exposed neck and arms. She was still bloodied, but her wounds, apparent upon his arrival, had strangely healed, more or less. Sickly hallow still hung on her features, despite the positives he was beginning to take stock of, but the thing that stuck him, however, was the apparent lack of her flowing, blued aether.

He’d made well to ensnare the light, to ensure that the breaking seals were closed, at least momentarily, from her temperament. He thought back to the aether, how much he'd infused her with; it hadn't been that much, perhaps a 16th of his own? She could still contact Hydaelyn, feel her blessing-he, nor any other than herself, were powerful enough to eliminate that-but he did, at least, manage to keep her from transforming into a Sin Eater. The Ascian shifted closer, looming over that of her face and shoulders. He had to move to his knees, though he loathed to do so, in order to observe her clearly, but he did notice, finally, that she was breathing.

Blink.

Emilia tried, again, to answer the voice she’d been speaking to prior, but the dry, burning sensation in her throat prevented her speech from leaving that of her mouth.

Blink.

Panting, she tried instead to move her arms, her legs. It felt foreign, and extremely labor-intensive, but she did manage to, at least, twitch her shoulders.

“Ah,” Bright gold looked upon her mismatched blue and kin colored eyes with an air of annoyance, “I’d almost believed myself rid of you, though insufferable it may be, it seems you still live; more or less.”

That hadn't been apparent, considering how desperate his voice had seemed when she was yet to wake. With a violent breath, she coughed; thankful light didn’t follow behind. “W…What did you do?”

Emet-Selch chuckled and snapped his fingers, a tall goblet appearing between the fingers of his gloved hand. He looked over her, then extended it, “Drink.” She looked up at him, staring. “Oh, _come now_. It’s obviously not poisoned.” The Ascian rolled his eyes, “If I’d meant to kill you, I’d had done it earlier. You don't exactly prevent the opportunity.”

A heated flush began to warm her cheeks. She knew that, and again, it was quite obvious considering their current standings. “I…can’t.”

His brow furrowed, “Excuse me?”

Emilia gritted her teeth and tried, again, to move, a convulsion twitching in the same shoulder that’d stirred prior. She could feel her limbs, but for some reason they were unreasonably cold, wrong. All felt heavy, but she could sense a lack of aether within her general spirit, as if it’d been taken away or drained, leaving her body an unresponsive husk. She pondered that; it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to believe the Ascian had the ability to contain her Lightwardens, he was in all senses of the word her polar opposite, but how did he actually do it? Why couldn’t Ryne, or Y’shtola, do the same?

Emet took measure of her movements, a sudden smirk of amusement taking hold of his dark, stained lips. “The acclaimed warrior can’t move? Oh, _tut tut tut_, that won’t do now, will it?”

She winced at the sweetness in his voice. The idea of a drink to wet her dried, stinging throat was much more pertinent than her speculations, “Give me it.” 

The Ascian chuckled and lowered further to her side, his face now close enough to feel the breath upon her cheeks. As he moved closer, his left extended behind her, supporting his weight as he leaned over her crumpled, bent body. His hair, slightly touseled, dipped down over his eyes, gold glittering beneath matching brown and white bangs. With suspicion, Emilia watched as his right extended the goblet near her lips, “Shall I provide you succor then, _my hero_?” 

“J-Just give me the drink,” She snapped, warmth feeding into the swell of her cheeks. 

He obliged without complaint, though the smirk remained. With prompting of the glass, he slowly tilted the metallic rim into the part between her lips. Without question, she immediately began to lap, drinking full the dark, red liquid until all that remained were droplets, stuck between the ridges in the glass. It was sickeningly sweet, but obviously fermented, much to her surprise. If she didn’t know any better, she would call it wine, but it was much too spiced to really be classified as such. She licked her lips as he began to pull the goblet away, “Thank you.”

Emet-Selch watched her for a moment, leaning into the scent of her breath. A soft, warm pain struck him with the look in her eyes, the memories which began to intermingle at her position, at her sincerity. Damn this insufferable shard. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I heard you correctly, did you _thank_ me, hero?” He smirked, “Your arch-nemesis, an Ascian?”

Emilia rolled her eyes and placed her head back against the stone floor, reveling in its cool embrace. So dramatic, “’Twas a mistake, it seems.”

He chuckled, “There are other ways in which you may thank me, if words vex you so,” The glittering taint in his eyes shone as he leaned closer to her lips, their bodies mere inches apart.

“S-Stop,” She hissed, looking up to him with both fear and a measure of interest, “I m-mean it.”

He leaned closer, his hair falling atop her upturned forehead. As he breathed in, a warm scent of honey, blood, and sickeningly cruel flowers filled his senses. It was like her, outside the Halls of Rhetoric, pining away at the gardens with curiosity and childlike happiness-he remembered the giddiness in her face as she'd run a bushel of those flowers to him, her cheeks the same shade as their petals.  
  
His aether, wanton and incredulously desirous, responded with harsh reminisce, reaching out to swallow, again, the warmth of her light. It was apparent to him, even in this state, that her blued spirit had dimmed considerably from his previous work of magicks. This close, however, his own could feel her, demand her. Zodiark take him, he could almost _remember_ her. 

With a soft meeting, unlike that of his horribly desperate aether, the Ascian brushed his lips along the tip of her nose, as he had the day her mask had been covering the rest. Her skin, though he’d believed it to be as soft, was more so then he’d anticipated, almost silky beneath the expanse of his mouth. He had to fight the impulse to grab her, to tie her down and devour her skin, her heat-when had he ever felt so cold, so...abandoned?

She had gasped as he moved to her cheeks, the soft cups beneath her eyes. With each exploratory brush, he could feel her pulse pounding under him, her throat clenching, the shuddering of her breath, it was erratic and delicious.

“E-Emet-Selch,” He ignored her call, moving further to the corner of her mouth, near the edge of her parted, gasping lips. By the gods, his aether was going to consume her, it was too familiar, too close, and he'd let it unless...

_“H̷̟̤̊ȁ̶͙͓͘d̶͂͜e̸̜͍̓̚s̶̘͐,̸̹̄ ̷̳̜͝m̸̢̳̒͝y̴̠̍͠ ̸͕̰̾l̵̹͆ő̷̬ṽ̶͉͆e̴̮̎̿ͅ,̵̩̇ ̸̭̈'̵͖̌̇t̴͈͉̅i̷̮͒͛s̸̛͔ ̴̘̏̆n̸̘͉̿̀o̵̝̊̑t̵̼̹̓ ̸̪̇t̸̼̹̎̐ĥ̶̨̊e̵̥̯̽ ̷̧̃t̸̯̫̂̌ĭ̵̹͎m̷̹̘̓̐ẽ̶̳̞̈.̴͎̽̿ ̶̏͜I̵̢̍'̸̨͆̈ṽ̸̠̌ẹ̸́̈́ ̵̡̗̇̅s̶̼̰̒̋t̴̠͕͑i̸̯̱͗̿l̵̘̍̿l̷̩̣̕ ̵̻͂̅w̷͔̣͛o̵̭̗̚r̵̝̃̒ḱ̶͔ ̴͈͔͂́t̶̮́̃ȍ̴̙̙̈ ̴̞̬́̈́f̴͓͑̕ị̷͇̓͗n̸̙̈́ì̷̩̖s̷̞̱̿͘h̸̳͊̀.̶͇̘̿͝”_

And there it was.

The memories, the cold.

In one swift motion, Emet-Selch disappeared from her body and instead rose just behind her curled back. Chilling, painful needles pricked at his chest, burrowing deep within his hollowed heart, stinging, burning. ‘Twas undoubtable, judging by the Warrior’s face; she’d heard the same as he in that moment, just before they’d joined, but by her confusion he could tell she’d neglected the memories to understand it. 

Anger bubbled then, more so with himself than of her reaction. It was foolish, childish, to have tried to connect with this fragmented, shattered remain of his _love_. He knew this, he knew it the moment he’d met her, seen her, watched her. Elidibus had even warned him before his arrival on the First, knowing well how attached Emet had been to her previous shards. He’d interfered with their business as well; he could never stand by when they’d been lost, injured, but…

This was different, he’d explain to his companion, she’d been weak, and he, though he’d loathe to admit, had been…distracted.

The way in which she’d limped from her friends in the Occular, the Light, splintering into her soul upon the absorption of each Lightwarden, again, at the behest of her poor, _weak, _companions. Gods, he would relish in killing them. How adoringly tasteful would it be to rip the heart from that insufferable human, or the _mystel; _how wonderful would it feel to bathe his hands in their blood and...

“Emet-Selch, answer me.”

He looked down, venom lacing his tongue upon the insult of that hideous, _disgusting_ name. He’d almost wished he’d revealed himself in truth to her, but, again, she wasn’t aware, wasn’t whole-how was she to know who she was, who she could be? _“Speak nothing of it, **hero**.”_

What _they_ were.

Emilia watched as he glared down at her, his eyes cool and painfully, revoltingly dark. She tried to move, pleased to discover she’d regained some motion in her arms, but the harder she tried the more her body began to fight, shaking, and weak. He rolled his eyes and knelt by her, placing a gloved hand behind the middle of her back. She’d yet to recover from his magicks, it seemed. 

“T-Thank you,” She groaned. The muscles in her arms shook, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Two acknowledgments in one night, and an apology?” Emet-Selch pushed on her back, reaching his arm beneath the crook of her bent legs. As he pulled on her lower half, he rose, cupping her shoulders against the length of his left arm and leaning her such that he could carry her weight. He grunted, “I should consider myself grateful.” 

The miqo’te looked at him with a measure of surprise, almost laughing at the strained expression he’d taken on. She definitely hadn't expected this, “Oh, so you _can _lift things?” She smirked, “I suppose I’ll need to remember that next time I’m setting up our camp, or when we need firewood. Thancred will be pleased to hear you're so well adept.”

“I see your sense of humor has returned to you,” He retorted, huffing her body back against his chest. He truly hadn't meant to do this, but his chest wouldn't allow his to leave her there, broken against the cold floor. It was a thought, but one that he'd regret upon his return to the rift, upon seeing her on the 'morrow. She shifted, but remained still as he began to walk the stairs leading to her bed.

“That reminds me,” She looked up at him, a strange nostalgia taking her at the angle of his face. He looked tired, old-though that was his normal appearance, he looked more so, unnaturally so. Almost...“How did you stop the Light earlier?”

Emet-Selch crossed the stairs, stopping just before the edge of her small, ruffled bed. He’d expected it to be…grander, considering the Exarch’s fascination with said Warrior, but it suited her well enough. It annoyed him, in some...teasing, illusionary way, but he'd forget those feelings, for now. Gently, he placed her upon the gap in the blankets, resting her head just between the set of pillows she’d pilled near the top. 

“Though I’ve stated that I will be a comrade to you_, hero_, I am entitled to withhold secrets of my own,” He leaned back and crossed his arms, an accustomed slump taking to his posture, “Particularly those which you are too obscure to comprehend.”

“I’m flattered,” Emilia rolled her eyes. It was shocking that the Ascian had treated her, helped her, when Ryne’s magic could only sate the light. Perhaps it was something to do with his temperament, being that of Hydaelyn’s opposite, or that of which he said; he was an enemy, he had every right to withhold information from her, and the Scions. Mayhap he did, actually, hold powers they'd yet to truly understand.

“Well,” The Ascian did a small bow and extended an arm, looking down towards his boots. Everything burned, his head, his chest; yes, she was a shard, but why did fate seem so adept to allow him to relieve these scenes, these torturous memories of what once was, what he'd done in the past. “’Tis been a pleasure, but in truth, I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

As he straightened himself, he reached out and took her hand into his own, weaving his such that hers was resting above the crook in his white, gloved fingers. Gently, he leaned and pressed his lips against her knuckles, a vat of purpled aether spilling into a portal behind him. She watched, her heart stinging at the contact, “Make well not to disappoint me, _hero_, I’ll not permit this to happen again.”

And he stepped back, disappearing within the darkness.


End file.
